My daughter woke me up at 2 AM, crying in pain and whispering, “Mom, there are little fish swimming inside my stomach.” Hours later, the X-ray revealed 36 swallowing magnets tearing her apart. My husband immediately pointed his finger at me, screaming, “You’ve always hated her! What did you do to her?” I stayed completely silent. I pulled out my phone, turned the screen toward the detective, and said, “Don’t ask me. Ask the person sitting in my seat at the dinner table.”
Elliott added gently. “It saved you, and it brought justice for your daughter.”
“I did it because it was glaringly obvious that absolutely nobody else in that room was going to defend my child,” I replied, my voice devoid of emotion, staring straight through the glass observation window at Brandon, who was weeping silently in the corridor.
